Memoria
by One And Only Trey
Summary: Spoiler-y for Episode III, obtained from the book: A young Darth Vader encounters an old acquaintance. One shot. No accounting for crappyness. Rating just because. R&R, flames will be used to read by.


Memoria 

**Summary:** Spoiler-y for Episode III, obtained from the book: A young Darth Vader encounters an old acquaintance. One shot.

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own this stuff. Except for the crappy Original Character :D however, if George were to lose his mind, I would be ALL OVER THAT and influence his weak subconscious into believing that I deserve the rights.

**Author's Notes:** I finished reading the Episode III novel this morning. And I cried. For, like, half an hour. It's freaking SAD. But this has nothing to do with that; this has to do with the part of the novel I read last night just before going to bed. It flipped my shizzle out. So, here you go. Do beware of Spoilerishness.

His mind stretched outwards in the Force, sifting through the immediate vicinity, searching for more people sensitive to the Force...

His eyes opened, and a smirk twisted his features. Following the echoes of meditation, he entered a small room.

She was alone. What he had once been recognized her. Her name was Sirina Savta. They were almost exactly the same age, he remembered. In truth, she was actually two standard months older than he was. She sat with her back to the wall, her legs crossed. Most of her iridescent white hair was pulled back in a tight braid, but a thin Padawan's braid hung forward with her tilted head.

He knew her, and her Master. Years ago, her Master and Obi-Wan had decided that the two might be able to teach one another something. They had both been seventeen years of age the first and last time they had sparred. The two Masters had stopped them before either lost control.

He who had once been Anakin walked towards her. His boots clicked on the smooth stone floor, and his robes rustled as he took his lightsabre from his belt. He had killed her Master not fifteen minutes ago. Now he would kill the Padawan.

Her eyes opened. She looked up, and he paused in his movement. That was what had made her unique. Her eyes glowed with their own light, as intensely blue-white as the sabre she wielded.

Her mouth opened, she took two slow breaths, then spoke.

"Anakin."

His eyes narrowed.

"_Anakin_," he said in a mocking tone. "Is dead. Dead, and gone."

She stood slowly, as if the weight of the galaxy rested upon her.

"But not one with the Force, I can see."

His only response was to ignite his lightsabre. She did the same. The blades matched in sapphire intensity. And the fight began.

All things considered, it was not a long fight. She only managed to hold her own for a few minutes. This, of course, was to be expected. She was, after all, a Padawan. And he... He was the strongest Force user to ever live. He was young as a Sith lord, but he still surpassed all of the Jedi Masters in power and ability. For all intents and purposes, he was a god.

Long years afterward, after the loss of Padmé, after years as the most feared being in the universe, the Anakin still holding on inside Darth Vader would remember this moment.

He would remember how the Force had shown her acceptance; he would remember how she dropped her hand, angling the sabre blade at the floor. He would remember how his blade met her at the chest level, purging her from life.

And he would remember the scariest thought of all. He would remember how out of all of the Jedi he killed that night in the temple, all the Younglings, all the Padawans, all the Knights and all the Masters, of every Jedi he had ever seen die, only she, this one Padawan the same age as he, only Sirina Savta, had allowed herself to become one with the Force. Only she left behind no body. He would remember, in the deepest darkness within his helmet, that a _Padawan_ had accepted death as natural course, and allowed herself to bleed out of this world.

And he remembered the fear that had taken over his soul, had left him with nothing but himself. His one fear, his fear of death. And he would scream at night remembering what could have been.


End file.
